True Love
by NeroZHILAI
Summary: : Alfred F Jones is a chronology student who is suffering to surpass end's meet due to his boyfriend and live-in partner's chronic illness. Struggling with the lack of cash, and the predicament of being a spectacle to his boyfriend's daily pain, he enlists himself in a project that would not only earn him a bountiful pay but reassemble pieces of Ivan that he hadn't known before.


True Love:

Summary: Alfred F Jones is a chronology student who is suffering to surpass end's meet due to his boyfriend and live-in partner's chronic illness. Struggling with the lack of cash, and the predicament of being a spectacle to his boyfriend's daily pain, he enlists himself in a project that would not only earn him a bountiful pay but reassemble pieces of Ivan that he hadn't known before.

"Promise me that you'll take good care of people who love you now and in the future, for true love doesn't happen only in the moment but lasts an eternity. Young or old, it chooses everyone and yet no one in particular. Only when you know true love's embrace will you know what it is like to be finally home."

He had counted it again, and again, the coins in his hands as he waited in queue, drawing himself closer and closer to the cashier until he was faced with the frivolous lady whose eyes sunk deep into her skull. Indifferently, he would scan the item that Alfred had picked out, eyes that would dart up to meet with his cerulean ones. "$1.99 sir," She would huff out, pushing the drink towards him, and the joyous American would nod vigorously, counting out the spare change in his hands and placing it on top of the counter. The woman's gaze would flicker from the open palm of his hand and the coins that sprawled on the counter surface. "Thank you." Dismissively, she would send him on his way without even bothering to count the coins that Alfred had formed from his palms. Gratified, Alfred would take his departure and return back to his boyfriend's hospital room. "109" it wrote in diminished paint on one of the white olden doors that smelled just as dowdy, the wear and tear of the wood showing through, and yet Alfred couldn't afford to send Ivan to a more expedient hospital; his pocket wouldn't allow that.

Walking inside, he took cautious steps so to not prompt Ivan to lid his eyes open, with the intention of greeting the other upon his arrival. Putting down the can next to the table, he would run his fingers through ashen blonde hair, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss against Ivan's brow, prompting the unconscious Russian to scrunch his facial features up, feeling the dampness of Alfred's lips against his sallow skin. It had been well off months since this started, when Ivan had started to *act* up. At first it was barely noticeable, just the chronic fatigue, and the disability to exert effort in physical things, which was worrying considering Ivan was quite an athletic person. It went on day by day and sooner or later it claimed all of Ivan's hours, lounged in the bed, blanket pulled until his shoulder disappeared under. Now, it had become more than that. Ivan was ill; he was very, very, _very_, ill. "_Fredka?" _A ring startled him coherent, and before he could regain his composure, his mouth ajar as if to speak, he would feel a bleak fingers tracing the outline of his cheek, just below where his glasses perched. "Hey there, baby… How are you doing?" This was playing _house_; this was just a cruel manifestation of what their life could have been. "You're back already? You should rest home_, Dorogoy. _" Ivan would try to goad him and yet he wouldn't concede, obstinately unrelenting.

He couldn't allow a morning to pass where he wasn't able to memorize his lover's facial features, no matter how worn they've become and how his skin had started to color alabaster and his eyes greyed down to a muddy purple. Any day could be their last after all, and Alfred knew that, and yet as much as he expected that date to come and pass, would he not see himself dealing well with Ivan's departure, at least not with all the things they were bound to do, and places they've wanted to see through glassy eyes, or days where it would be significantly warmer, colder and they'd become bound to the bed unable to pull cumbersome limbs off. It almost made him disconsolate, how their future seemed so woolly when years ago, everything took off like a charm and they were presumed destined for each other. "I'd rather stay here with you." Forever, if he could take that into account, but, as chronology student, forever was a vague term, because one could meet its tether before the other and would relinquish them without condition. "Go back to sleep. Don't want bags under those pretty eyes." He was a deplorable human wasn't he? And he could hear his heart spike up in his chest when he had realized that so many days ago. "Are you going to be alright?" Despite his weakened demeanor, the Russian wouldn't adhere to allowing his boyfriend to bereave himself of rest, just because of his condition. "Don't worry sweetie, I have work anyways. I'll see you later alright?"

'Please let him wake up,' was all he could agonize about.

He had enlisted himself in this project, enlisted not because he wanted to but was in a desperation to save what could be saved, and maybe remedy his despondency in the process. It would allow time to build on without him as he separated himself from the outside world, but right now all he wanted to know was the nuance behind his ministrations, _why he wanted to go through with this project. _Maybe turning back time was the solution to his answer, maybe if he had changed something, _anything_ he would be left with more time to work with. Wasn't that what humans solely desired? To have more _time?_ And yet would they always be placed in a deficit of it.

Alas, the project had been a stereotypical time machine, something that could send you back in time and allow you through navigate through it, change the present, the _future_. With a strengthened resolve, Alfred had exhausted the last of his resources, finally pulling up the hatch to activate the machine, seeing in spark up in response. There was no turning back now, and if he wouldn't make it home tonight, he hoped and pray that he would see Ivan on the other side, and they would know eternity. At least that had to be kept at bay, as the American turned to the only practical solution, standing in front of him, his coat previously light-weight had bared down on him and his lips twitching slightly. With a determined and affeared voice, skittish, he would turn up the voice recorder. "Test 1, day 1." And possibly his _last_ if he wasn't accurate enough. Giving it all he would accelerate towards the spark of light, hoping he wouldn't sentence himself to self-induced electrocution as he did so. He only had one item that he held in his hand that was a device that would send him back to his current time.

Jumping between time holes were odd, and the prospect of changing the past had become more absurd, as one mistake would cause the balance to waver and therefore branch out to another future where things would've turned out more malevolent or tranquil. War could never be prevented, fights could never be foreseen or changed, what was written down in history will happen if allowed, and having the omniscient knowledge of what will happen in the future would mark the role of a human god.

He awakened and his eyes were heavy, as heavy as the heart contained inside him. He could feel the pitter patter of the Russian, as he pulled himself up feeling the drench of heavy rain coat his being, and shivering he would head towards the nearest shelter and take cover. Pressing his mouth into a thin line, stress clouding his features, he would quaver lightly underneath the rain. He had no idea of his whereabouts and crossed very much uncharted territory by now. Eyes looking around, he tried to familiarize himself with the place and yet there was nothing he could recognize except for the smooth jazz music that escaped from a restaurant muffled by the glass walls. Everything had suddenly become so retro, and the streets were filled with dubious individuals who donned heavy fur coats, speaking in fluent English as they passed by. Panicked, the American realizing that the contraption had worked, he had desperately tried to send himself back, pressing against the device to no avail. It looked like the device had malfunctioned and at a farcical moments as well. Head hanging and clothes dripping wet, he would run his hands down his shivered frame. All he sought for was the warmth of Ivan right now, his strong arms around his body and his voice, soft against the shell of his ear. He wanted to go home.

As he stood there lamenting about his surroundings, a small voice would ring out, familiar and yet something he couldn't recognize. "Mister, you look cold." Boyish and yet thick-accented a small child would perk up from the corner of his visual peripheral, addressing him. "Did you forget your coat at home?" He would asked questions consecutively and yet Alfred would answer him with intransigent reticence. "Here, wrap this around your neck." Looking down at the figure in front of him would he be met with candescent enigmas of violet, lavender and so full of life, pale skin and a small body build, offering him was looked like a white scarf. With much vacillation, Alfred with instantly recognize just who this person was, and without much context.

Ivan.

He had called out to him, and almost like a miracle the child appeared, allowing Alfred to wrap his scarf around his neck, a fond memory from the blonde's past that almost instigated him to tear him and yet he resisted, maintaining his slowly relenting pride. "Uh, thanks… Um, I'm Alfred." He would introduce himself, his arm held out for the small Russian to take. Alfred could feel little fingers wrap around his index and middle finger, mimicking a shake. "Hi, my name is Ivan."

_Weeks later._

"Alfred, Alfred! I made something for you." Exuberated, the young Russian would quip up, sitting in a field full of golden sunflowers, resting a flower crown against Alfred's golden hair, prompting the American to chuckle. "Why are you always so occupied with that _thingy_?" He would address the device that rested in Alfred's lap, still at a state of malfunction. "I need it to return back home," He would explain vaguely, fingers tracing the shape of the device set in his lap. "There's someone waiting for me there, Ivan. I already miss _him._" With a grim frown pulling on Alfred's lips he would avert his gaze from the child in front of him, rosy-cheeked, lively and upbeat. It was like Ivan was there and yet he was so far away and Alfred knew that this child wasn't _his_ Ivan. His Ivan was weary, mature and sophisticated. He could be childish at times and yet was a pretty level-headed individual. He lost his sense of innocence, lost his ability to be guileless in the world and yet right now, all Alfred could see was exactly that.

"Can Ivan help?" With a pout he would kneel down next to the American whose inconsolable state bothered him greatly and without giving much denotation, he would wrap his tiny arms around the American's larger frame, patting his back. "It's okay Alfred. It will be alright. I'm sure he will be waiting for your return." _There was sense to what Ivan said and yet, _ "I don't have enough time. When I return, he will surely escape from my grasp." It was almost a heart wrenching sob that stifled out of Alfred, leaning in the child's embrace as his eyes would lid itself close. "If he loves Alfred then they will have enough time, I believe." Somehow, that galvanized a hope inside the American that he thought he had lost the moment Ivan had confined himself in the hospital. "I wish I can turn back time." Suddenly, the American would divulge, withdrawing from the brief embrace they shared, his eyes glazed over like he was about to cry. "Why is that?" Asked Ivan, who was half-curious, half-concerned. "Then I would have more time with him."

_More weeks later_

Ivan sat across the field, looking up at the sky and the clouds that passed by decorating its vastness. Alfred on the other hand continued to fiddle with the device in his hands, trying to get it work again. It had been a month and more since he had been separated from home. "Have you ever wanted to redo something?" Alfred would inquire, his eyes never leaving the device and yet Ivan would scramble from where he was seated, pressing his back against Alfred's. "A lot. Ivan made a lot of mistakes. I don't want to change anything, though. I'm afraid if I do then, I wouldn't be who I am today. I wouldn't have made friends with you too, Alfred." An innocent smile on his features as he decreed those words, eating at Alfred's heart like he was made out of pure mush. "Do you wish you have more time?" Another question, as Alfred believed that Ivan was mature enough to get through them and each time he wasn't disappointed. The younger Russian seemed to know his answers wisely, and confidently. He was veracious; he was right. All the things that led up to now happened for a reason and yet, why did parting with his _own_ Ivan made it feel like his life was going to topple over. "You always ask this question Alfred. I think that if you remember something really well, the memory will be alive not only in that moment but as long as you heart remembers. Time allows wounds to heal, stories to end and to begin. If time was stagnant then wouldn't you be staring at only one picture? That would be a little too depressing for me." He would admit with adroit understanding, running his tiny fingers along the blades of grass that set in front of them. "Do not worry Alfred, if he leaves you, then I will be here."

Somehow that made Alfred's heartbeat stop, and his shoulders droop as his form hunched over, hands pressed against his face as he would try his best to desist from shedding tears and yet it already streamed out of his eyes, dribbling down his cheeks as rueful sobs would commence, prompting Ivan to pat his back, trying to placate him to no avail, as Alfred wouldn't cease. "I-I wish… I—wish it were just more than a memory. I don't want him to go—I don't want _you to go, Ivan. Please don't leave me. _" Suddenly he couldn't breathe air and a rock was stuck in his throat, throttling his breath as he would rasp out unintelligible words. "I won't leave, Alfred. It's okay."

_Months later_

The indicator in Alfred's device abruptly turned green that day, while he sat in the field of flowers, autumn approaching and winter just a few steps away. Suddenly he felt exhilarated, the rush surging through his body as he would suddenly rise up from where he was eased, holding the device up to the air like a god in worship. "It's working! It's working! I can't believe it, Ivan. It's actually working! " Jubilated, the other would aver, turning his attention to the child who seemed to be pleased as well, rejoicing with the American who would suddenly scoop him in his arms and hug him tightly. "I'll finally get to see him again, Ivan! I'll finally get to be with him." He cried out, not in distress but in buoyancy, spurring the child to crack in a fit of giggles as he rested in his arms, suddenly in a tight embrace. "I'm happy for you Alfred! I'm very happy for you—" He would manage while he while mid-air, his legs reaching for the ground that seemed to be too far for his reach. "Yes, Ivan—I." Then he realized.

He realized that he wouldn't get to see this side of Ivan again, this lively side of bullishness. It made his heart suddenly constrict in his chest, as he would set Ivan back against the grassy terrain, looking at him in the eyes like he was about to say something that he was going to regret, and no doubt the remorse was there, his compunctious cyan eyes that would gleam down on soft lavender, as a despondent smile would show up in his visage. "That means I have to go…" Licking his lips, he would rasp out, as if a gentle farewell was something he'd very proceed on without and yet, his tenuous heart would allow it, abandon this child that he had been seeing the past months, accompanying him as the seasons would grow colder and colder. "Does Alfred have to go forever?" Ivan would ask with a pout, his brows already furrowed as his arms would cross itself, a little disheartened by the news that Alfred had brought forth. "Will we see each other again?" More questions, as the young child grew restless, feeling the heaviness weigh down on his core as globs of tears threatened to wrest themselves out, and yet he would bite his lip, trying to hold back his emotions. "Very soon." Alfred would assure, patting his head, running his hand through familiar strands that had first seemed to be foreign. "Until then, don't forget me… And I will return to you." That was a promise he sought to keep, and though Ivan then would be different, would he always be composed of the same blocks, making him the person that Alfred learned to love. Pressing a kiss against the child's head, he would break out in a joyful guffaw. "See you later, Ivan."

As he pressed the button, he would feel the spike of electricity in him. It was like his body had been entranced and suddenly everything felt like it was stuck in a form of limbo. As his senses would distance and his vision blacken, would he feel the life return to him, and without warning, he would feel the weight of his feet on the ground, and his eyes exposed to searing light. Shielding away, his breathing would regulate and suddenly he would recognize the inside of his laboratory. "Test 1, Day 1." His voice repeated and nearly he would mistake it for another person. He would breath in a rush of air, his hand clasping the fabric of his chest as his eyes squeezed shut. "Ivan."

It wouldn't take him long to find his way back to the hospital room, clear in urgency as he would speed down the halls, nearly knocking over some people whom he had apologized to profusely but swiftly. He would reach the door that read "109" and open the door. There Ivan was his eyes open, but he seemed to be barely awake, still a little weak but very much alive. Alfred would draw himself near and wrap his arms around the other, pressing warm lips against his cheek. "Welcome back, Fredka." Cheekily, Ivan would welcome him, one idle arm strapping itself around Alfred's middle. "I'm back."

AN: I don't know if I should write an epilogue, but do let me know if you do want to read an extension of the story. I wrote this on a whim and about in 2 hours so I do hope to write more next time.


End file.
